Say Something
by emeraldorchids
Summary: Established Mirandy. Andy comes back from covering a story and finds Miranda...occupied.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I was listening to "Say Something" on repeat for a few days this week, and this is what happened…not really based on the song or anything, but kind of a breakup fic.

* * *

Andrea sighed in relief as the taxi turned down the tree-lined street she knew so well. It was late on a Saturday night, and she wasn't expected to be home until Tuesday. She had been covering a scandalous story surrounding a local election upstate, but with the candidate dropping out of the race with four days to go, she was able to wrap-up her report and get home—to Miranda.

In the past three weeks, she had only seen Miranda once, and it for a few hours in passing. She loved her career as a journalist for the _Mirror_, but she didn't like that her stories sometimes took her away from home.

The car pulled up to the townhouse and she smiled, seeing the lights on. Paying the driver, she practically ran up the steps, eager to wrap her arms around the older woman. Quiet jazz music streamed from the den, so Andrea set down her bags and headed in search of her lover. Seeing a splash of white hair peeking out from behind the wingback chair in front of the fireplace, she felt the tension drain from her body. She was home.

"Miranda," she said as she walked closer, "oh god, I've missed yo—" and suddenly, she froze. Miranda was in the chair, as she expected, but she was sitting on the lap of an older man Andrea vaguely recognized from one of the galas.

Miranda's head jerked towards the young woman, her eyes wide with guilt. She removed her arms from their place around the man's neck and stood, never breaking eye contact with Andrea. "Charles, please leave. I'll have my assistant contact your office first thing Monday to make arrangements," she said.

"Of course, thank you for the drink," he said, standing up and heading for the door. The two women stared at each other intensely until the door slammed shut.

Miranda jumped and rested her hand on the back of the chair, closing her eyes. "Andrea, it's not what you think," she said, softly shaking her head.

"Oh, and what is it exactly that you think I'm thinking?" Andrea hissed.

"There is nothing going on between Charles and me. We were just working on a new project and—"

"That's bullshit. You work on projects in your office, in a conference room, hell, even in a booth at Pastis. _Not _in his lap, in front of the fireplace—_our_ fireplace!" Andrea took a few steps away, running her hand through her hair. She spun around and stood inches in front of Miranda, causing the older woman to whimper. "I was so happy to come home to you…I just…dammit, Miranda. I can't do this," she said, storming back out the door she just came in.

Miranda closed her eyes and gently chewed on her upper lip, silently berating herself. It wasn't like she had sex with Charles—they hadn't even kissed—but she couldn't deny that they had been flirting heavily with each other. She had been feeling insecure and depressed again, and a little playful flirting with a colleague seemed innocent enough. And it would have been if her wife hadn't walked in.

Tears welled as fear and despair surged through her body. Sobs took over her body—deep, gut-wrenching sobs that sounded more like howls than anything else. She stumbled towards the stairs, intent on making it up to her bedroom, but she collapsed at the base of the staircase, crumbling, just like her marriage.

Andrea walked around the block for nearly twenty minutes. She knew Miranda would keep saying there was nothing going on, that they were working on a project and so forth. But that was a lie. She saw the guilt in the woman's eyes, and guilt was an emotion quite foreign to the editor.

Making her decision, she returned to the townhouse. "Miranda, I—" she stopped when she saw her in a pile at the base of the stairs. "Are you okay?"

Miranda lifted her head and looked at Andrea through bleary, puffy eyes. Her eyes couldn't quite focus, and she was still stuck in that haze that always follows an emotional purge. Wiping her eyes, she simply nodded.

Andrea took a deep breath. "It's over. I'm leaving."


	2. Chapter 2

Miranda inhaled sharply and closed her eyes, sinking back against the stair as she softly began crying again.

"Did you hear me? Or do you just not care if I leave?" Andrea asked.

Miranda buried her head in her arms and continued to cry.

"I would have done anything for you, you know. I love you, Miranda, but I can't do this. I have to say goodbye," she said as tears streamed down her own cheeks. "Jesus! Say something!" she screamed. "I'm giving up on you, Miranda."

Miranda sobbed louder as she slowly pushed herself up from the stair. "I'm sorry, Andrea. I'm sorry," she said. "I've been such a fool. This…you…I'm…I've been drowning. I don't know how to do this."

"Don't know how to what? Sign divorce papers? Use sex to get what you want? Cheat—"

"I did not cheat," Miranda shouted.

"But you would have if I hadn't interrupted," Andrea said. "Do you realize that you've basically turned into everything you hated about Stephen?"

"No. No. Don't say that. Please."

Andrea shook her head and picked up her bag from the floor. "I'm exhausted from the past week, and this is going nowhere," she said, practically stepping over Miranda on her way up.

Miranda sat up, watching Andrea climb the stairs. She pulled herself to her feet, intent on following her wife until she heard the bedroom door slam shut. Slowly, she made her way into the guest room and crawled onto the bed, crying herself to sleep.

Andrea woke in the middle of the night. Reaching out next to her, she suddenly remembered the events that had transpired in the past few hours…not that she could forget. As she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, she faintly heard Miranda's tears coming from the guest room.

She didn't particularly feel good about what she had said, but she really felt like she had no choice. Her heart was breaking and she needed to do something before she endured irreparable damage. But seeing Miranda like that killed her. At first she thought Miranda was faking the tears, but to keep up the charade this long? Surely even Miranda would lose interest after a few hours.

Could it—could it be that Miranda really was upset, too? Andrea couldn't bear to listen to Miranda's sobbing, so she got up and made her way to the guest room. The older woman was curled up on top of the duvet, sobbing.

"Hey," Andrea said quietly as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her hand hovered over the woman's body. Miranda stopped crying but didn't turn around. "Miranda, I said some things I probably shouldn't have. It's…it's not fair for me to put you on this pedestal as if you're infallible."

"No, I get it. You know my intolerance for, well…Andrea, I'm sorry. I made a mistake, and I will regret my actions for the rest of my life. I—I don't want you to leave. I love you…so much," she said, sobbing into the pillow.

Andrea gently brushed her fingers along Miranda's arm, then reached over and laced their fingers together as she crawled up behind her on the bed. "I know. I love you, too. Why don't we try to get some rest?" she said.

Miranda squeezed Andrea's hands and tugged them tightly around her body, pulling Andrea snugly against her backside. "Andrea," she said breathlessly, "I cannot live without you. And before you say anything, _yes, I know_, I should have thought of that before inviting Charles in."

"Mira, let's not do this right now."

"No, Andrea, I need to explain. I know this is no excuse, but I just missed you. I hadn't seen you in so long, and we've both been so busy we haven't even been able to talk. Oh god, Paris was awful this year. I felt like I was everyone's grandmother. Everyone in the industry is just so young lately, I just—I needed to feel desirable again," she said, turning over and burying her face in the younger woman's neck. "I didn't want _him_—I had no intentions of letting it get any further than a few quips. Andrea, I wanted you," she said. "Give me another chance. Please."

Tears were streaming down Andrea's cheeks. She didn't know it was that bad. Miranda had taken a fall this past winter and the tabloids tore her to pieces. She took three months off while she healed, and Andrea was apparently correct in suspecting her fragile psyche hadn't fully healed. "Shhh," Andrea soothed, rubbing her hands along Miranda's back, "it will be okay. We'll get through this."

"I don't—I don't deserve you," Miranda said between sobs. "You should be with some thirty-something financial analyst. You should be starting a family and posting happy photos on Facebook, not staying inside and…tending to me."

"Will you do me a favor?" Andrea asked.

"Yes. Anything, Andrea."

"Shut up."

Miranda gasped and pulled back, looking Andrea in the eye. "But—but—"

"Miranda," she said, taking her head between her hands, "listen to me and don't say anything. I love you. I love you a lot, actually, and I overreacted before. I'm not leaving, because honestly I don't know what I would do without you. I'm sorry I wasn't there in Paris when you needed me. But I'm here now, and we will get through this. Let's go to bed—_our_ bed. I really am exhausted," she said, pushing herself up and tugging the woman after her.

"Can I say something?" Miranda asked as she slipped on a cotton nightgown.

Andrea nodded, and wrapped her arms around the older woman. "Yes?"

"I love you," she said, looking up at Andrea's eyes.

Andrea softly pressed her lips to Miranda's before turning out the light and leading them to bed. Things indeed would be alright.

FIN


End file.
